John 14:15-31 · Jesus Promises the Holy Spirit
Whispering The Lyrics (revised)
John 14:15-31
Sermon
by Thomas Long
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Many of you probably have stashed away in a drawer somewhere around your home the old 45 rpm records. If you have some from the 50s and early 60s you will have Elvis' grinding out "Hound Dog," Buddy Holly and the Crickets' hiccupping "Peggy Sue," Chuck Berry's joyful hot licks in "Maybellene," the Coasters' slapstick tour de force "Charlie Brown," the mournful "Tears On My Pillow" by Little Anthony and the Imperials, the impenetrable and probably scandalous "Louie, Louie" by the Kingsmen, and the teenaged gropings of the Paris Sisters' "I Love How You Love Me."

Here and there in these dusty stacks, one can find an occasional recording by the great blues master Jimmy Reed. A share-cropper's son, Reed brought the throbbing harmonica-and-guitar-driven black rhythm-and-blues of the Mississippi Delta into the popular rock-and-roll mainstream. Many of us, when we were in high school, fancied ourselves a budding rock band. My friends and I did. We would play and replay our 45s attempting in vain to capture the sound. But how do you imitate someone like Reed. The pain-soaked cries of his mahogany voice could not be imitated by our too-tight, too-white, suburban throats.

There's an interesting story behind the Jimmy Reed records. In placing the phonograph needle again and again in the grooves of Jimmy Reed's records, you began to notice something curious. If one listened very carefully, there could sometimes be heard, ever so faintly in the background, a soft woman's voice murmuring in advance the next verse of the song. The story that grew up around this -- and perhaps it is true -- was that Jimmy Reed was so absorbed in the bluesy beat and the throbbing guitar riffs of his music that he simply could not remember the words of his own songs. He needed help with the lyrics, and the woman's voice was none other than that of his wife, devotedly coaching her husband through the recording session by whispering the upcoming stanzas into his ear as he sang.

Whether or not this story is accurate, Christians will surely recognize a parallel experience. Jesus tells his followers that the role of the Holy Spirit is, in effect, to whisper the lyrics of the gospel song in the ears of the faithful. When Jesus was present, he was the one who instilled in them the right words, coached them through the proper verses, taught them the joyful commandments. But now that Jesus approaches his death, now that he draws near to his time of departure, now that the disciples will be on their own without him, that task is to be handed over to the Holy Spirit: "If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth ..." (John 14:15-17).

The primary task, then, of the Holy Spirit is reminding the faithful of the truth, jogging the memories of the followers of Jesus about all of his commandments so that they can keep them in love, whispering the lyrics of the never-ending hymn of faithful obedience in their ears. It may surprise us to think of the Holy Spirit in this way, as a quiet, whispering teacher of the commandments of Jesus. Often the Spirit is advertised in flashier terms: The Spirit gives ecstasy; the Spirit evokes speaking in unknown tongues; the Spirit prompts dramatic and miraculous healings. Indeed, the Holy Spirit of God does perform such deeds, but these are all derivative of the one, primary activity of the Spirit -- reminding the children of God about everything that Jesus taught and commanded (John 14:26), whispering the gospel lyrics into the ears of the forgetful faithful.

When Jimmy Carter was running for President of the United States, one of the more vivid moments in the campaign passed by almost unnoticed. One Sunday morning, candidate Carter had been worshipping at the Baptist Church in Plains, Georgia. When the service was over, he exited the church into the swarm of press encamped on the church's front lawn. Cameras whirring, video lights glaring, microphones thrust forward, the media mavens moved in for interviews, pushing themselves to think of clever questions to ask a presidential candidate on the way out of a Southern Baptist Church -- "Did you like the sermon?" "Did you enjoy the choir this morning?" "Do you plan to remain a Baptist in Washington?" -- on and on the banal questions spewed.

Suddenly, a reporter, probably in a stroke of luck, shouted out a question that genuinely mattered: "Mr. Carter, suppose when you are President, you get into a situation where the laws of the United States are in conflict with what you understand to be the will of God. Which will you follow, the laws of the state or the commandments of God?"

Carter stopped, looked up, and blinked into the bright Georgia sun, obviously turning the question over in his mind. Then, perhaps still "in the Spirit on the Lord's Day," perhaps with the Spirit gently whispering the lyrics of the gospel into his ears, he turned toward the reporter and replied, "I would obey the commandments of God." Alert aides, alarmed by this candor, unnerved by their candidate's near-treasonous remark, hurriedly whisked him away from the press and into a waiting car. Carter the politician should have avoided the question, or hewed closely to the law of the land, but Carter the Christian had the Holy Spirit of Jesus Christ whispering in his ear, "Do you love me? The world cannot see or know me, but do you love me? Do you keep my commandments?"

The reason we need the Holy Spirit murmuring the gospel in our ears, of course, is that we are notoriously forgetful. As one commentator has pointed out, "an early Christian definition for being lost ... was 'to have amnesia.' "1 We are amnesiacs who cannot keep our calling clearly in mind. Like the great Jimmy Reed, we are caught up in the rhythms, but we forget the lyrics. We know that we are created to serve and love one another, but the pressure builds and the temptation to seek revenge is strong and we simply forget who we are and what we are purposed to do and be in life.

The doctrine of sin discloses that our loss of memory is not a momentary lapse. Having lost our memory, we now choose forgetfulness again and again, preferring the oblivion of amnesia to the sharp accountability of remembering the commandments. In his book Lost In The Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book, Walker Percy describes a frequent device of soap operas, movies and novels. A principal character will develop amnesia. He or she is in a new place, with a new job, a new set of friends, perhaps a new lover. This plot device, says Percy, is endlessly fascinating since it feeds our fantasies about a risk-free forgetting of the old self and the embarking on a new identity.

Percy decides to push the question of amnesia to its highest power. "Imagine," he writes, "a soap opera in which a character awakens every morning with amnesia ...." Every day, the character is in a strange house with a strange and attractive man or woman. Everything is new and fresh -- the view from the window, the partner, the sense of the self. "Does this prospect intrigue you?" asks Percy. "If it does, what does this say about your non-amnesiac self?"2

Percy's point, of course, is the lure of forgetfulness. One way to describe sin is willful forgetfulness. We choose amnesia; we decide as an act of the will not to remember that we are God's very own son, God's very own daughter.

God's mercy is, in part, the grace of memory. God's Spirit whispers in our ear, telling us what we cannot -- or will not -- remember, refreshing our memory about who we are and to whom we belong. When, in situations of challenge and stress, we remember the comfort and demand of the gospel, it is because the voice of the Holy Spirit whispers the lyrics in our ear.

A friend who is a minister reported her experience in taking communion to a woman in a nursing home who had Alzheimer's disease. When she arrived in the woman's room, she attempted to carry on a conversation with her. Even though she was a member of this minister's church and the minister had known her for years, meaningful communication was nearly impossible. The woman was confused and disoriented. She simply could not remember anything, including who she was or who the minister was.

When the minister set up the communion elements, the woman's confusion increased. Seeing the bread and the cup on her hospital table, she furrowed her brow and tried to sweep them off with her hand, "What's this? What ...?"3

But when the minister began the familiar communion liturgy, the woman grew calm. The Holy Spirit irrigated furrows in her memory deeper than any disease, more profound than any confusion. "On the night that our Lord was betrayed ...," the minister said, and the woman began to repeat the words silently with her lips. "This is my body, for you," the woman was now quietly speaking the words along with the minister, the Spirit whispering the lyrics in her ear. When the bread and the wine were offered, the woman eagerly, hungrily, took them in her hands -- the gifts of God for this daughter of God.

In his book The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat, Oliver Sacks tells the story of Jimmie, a former sailor, now a patient in a nursing home, whose severe neurological disorder had left him with a profound and permanent amnesia. He simply had no memory of anything from 1945 on. Having no ability to retrieve the past and no ability to construct a meaningful present, Jimmie lacked the continuity that makes for a sense of the self. He was, wrote Sacks, a person who "wore a look of infinite sadness and resignation."

However, when Sacks asked the Sisters who ran the nursing home whether Jimmie had lost his soul, the Sisters were outraged by the question. "Watch Jimmie in chapel," they said, "and judge for yourself."

So Sacks did watch Jimmie in chapel, and there he observed an astounding transformation. He saw an intensity and steadiness in Jimmie that he had not observed before. As he received the sacrament, there was "perfect alignment of his spirit with the spirit of the Mass." There in worship, Jimmie was no longer at the mercy of a faulty and fallible memory. "He was wholly held, absorbed ...." He whose mind was broken was given in worship, "a continuity and unity so seamless it could not permit any break."4

Jimmie in his own way is like all of us. In the final analysis, none of us is able to construct a self. We must all be given a story and a continuity not of our own making. Where we have no faithful memory, God remembers, and by the grace of God, the Spirit whispers the lyrics of the saving gospel in our ears.

CSS Publishing Company, Whispering the Lyrics, by Thomas Long